


I never knew that I could hurt this way

by iriswallpaper



Series: Heartaches By The Number [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Emotional Hurt, Infidelity, John and Mary's Wedding, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Pining Sherlock, Season/Series 03, ending an affair, everyone is morally bankrupt, scenes in between/concurrent with S3 on-screen events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's John and Mary's wedding day. Sherlock realizes he can't continue things the way they've been with John.</p><p>"I love you, Sherlock. And you love me, even if right now you can’t see that this is the best for all of us. You are no more the type to be in a relationship than I am to be alone. You’d hate it in six months. You’d hate me in twelve.”</p><p> </p><p>Scene-based fics that are concurrent with events in S3. This is not an S3 fix-it fic.</p><p>HEED THE TAGS because everyone is morally bankrupt in this fic.</p><p>Title from the song "Heartaches by the Number."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I never knew that I could hurt this way

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to DulcimerGecko and MissDavis for the beta of this fic. Your help is so valuable, I can't find words enough to thank you!

_Heartache number one was when you left me  
I never knew that I could hurt this way._

.

.

The priest gave them final instructions but Sherlock wasn’t listening. Instead he watched John, thinking about how he’d carefully adjusted John’s tie and placed the tie pin he’d been given by a grateful client - like wrapping up a most precious of gifts, sealing it with a bow and giving it away. John gave him a sharp glance so he tuned into the priest's words, still holding John’s gaze. They were to wait in the vestry until their music cue, then John would precede him to the altar, where they’d face the congregation and wait for Mary. Simple. 

Why was the priest continuing to blather when it was all so simple? He at last shut up, exited the vestry and shut the door behind.

John glanced at Sherlock and licked his lips. As the doorknob clicked in the jamb, he surged forward, hauling Sherlock down by his jacket lapels and kissing him roughly. Sherlock responded immediately, wrapping his arms around John and holding him tight. John broke the kiss briefly to murmur “Sherlock” then dove back in, invading every crevice of Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue. 

It was glorious, stunning, rapturous ... 

… until it wasn’t. Sherlock placed his hands on John’s shoulders and gently held him away. He kept his head down so he wouldn't have to meet John’s eyes. “John, we can’t. We can’t do this any more. I’ve come to care for Mary. I can’t do this to her.” 

“Sherlock, it’s… Don’t. Just don’t. I can’t do without you. Please.” John’s voice was rough.

Sherlock continued to look at the floor. He could feel the heat radiating off John through the brief distance between them. “Then don’t do this,” he hissed, gesturing toward the door to the sanctuary.

John took a step back and straightened his spine. “We already talked about this, Sherlock.” His voice sounded like a whip crack.

Sherlock finally glanced up. John’s eyes were filled with hurt and confusion. Sherlock wanted to close the gap between them and sooth it away, but he couldn’t. Though it pained him immensely, he couldn’t. “I can no longer be a party to your cheating on Mary. I can no longer be your dirty secret.”

John shook his head. “You’re not my … No, Sherlock. I love you. Don’t do this now.”

The first bars of organ music started on the other side of the door. Sherlock knew they had some time before their cue and wished it away. “John, be reasonable. In fifteen minutes you will be a married man.”

“Sherlock.” John stepped forward, reached for Sherlock’s cheek but Sherlock turned his face away. John’s hand dropped to his side and clenched.

Eyes closed, Sherlock took a deep breath. “I hope to remain your friend but I can no longer engage in a physical relationship with you, John. Continuing to be lovers will endanger too much that I hold dear. That we both hold dear. I will always love you, John Watson, but you will belong to someone else once we leave this room.”

The music shifted to their cue to enter the sanctuary. Sherlock closed the short distance to the door. He turned the knob and held the door open with a gesture for John to precede him, just as the priest had instructed. John paused in the doorway, holding Sherlock’s eye, and whispered, “Of course you’re my friend. I love you, too. Always.” Then he snapped to attention and strode quickly to the altar rail. 

Sherlock closed the door softly and followed, taking his place as Best Man, and his place in the wings of John’s life.

~*~

The wedding passed in a blur but the reception dragged on in slow motion. Sherlock tried to eat when a waiter placed a plate in front of him but the food stuck in his throat. The wine, on the other hand, seemed to pass the lump in his throat with no problem. He downed glass after glass of the mediocre riesling while John and Mary whispered to each other and giggled beside him. By the time the maitre’d called for the Best Man’s speech, the wine had eroded the edge off his anguish. 

He stood - and froze. He’d carefully written a speech and refined it over the past weeks. Just yesterday he’d transcribed the final draft onto index cards. But after the telegrams, he looked at the cards in his hand, and he couldn’t. Just couldn’t read the innocuous phrases he’d written about love, and how happy John and Mary would be together, and the few mild jokes about them both interspersed. Mrs. Hudson had helped him practice the final draft and assured him it was just right. 

But he had something to say. Something else, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Loosened by the alcohol, Sherlock opened his mouth and set forth a stream-of-consciousness discourse about his life with John. He hardly even paid attention to what was coming out of his mouth, but it must have been at least semi-appropriate because Mrs. Hudson sniffed and dabbed her eyes. He was dimly aware of recounting cases until he got to their most recent unsolved one. At that point his attention snapped into focus with insights from his mind palace about the Buckingham Palace guard who’d been stabbed. He slapped his own face, hoping to sober up enough to think. Then it clicked - Major Sholto. John’s former CO was in danger. And from there it had been like old times, ‘into battle’ with John until the answer had gelled in Sherlock’s mind.

And now, after seeing Shoto into an ambulance and the would-be murderer into the back of a squad car, Sherlock slumped on a bench in the dark garden smoking a cigarette and feeling the first hint of a white wine hangover. He hated it when the hangover started before he’d even slept and wished he’d brought cocaine - a small hit would be a right fine pick-me-up. It was chilly in the dark. It felt good after the too-close atmosphere of the reception. He knew he’d have to go in soon to play the violin for John and Mary’s first dance.

Sherlock sighed and took a long drag. Their first dance as a married couple. He’d composed a waltz ostensibly for John and Mary - but really, for John. Sad, sweet, full of longing. How could anyone hear it and be dense enough to think it was for the ‘happy’ couple?

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned. John stood behind him in the dark. 

“I looked all over for you.” He came around the bench and sat down very close to Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced at John then glanced away. He took a long drag on his cigarette before answering, letting the words waft out on smoky tendrils. “Won’t your wife wonder where you’ve gone?” He couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped into his voice.

“She and her girlfriends are having one last round of shots before she’s an ‘old married woman.’ They’re lined up at the bar. I’m sure they’ll be a while.” John slid closer. “What you said, in the vestry. Marriage won’t change anything, Sherlock. Not between us.”

Sherlock made an undignified, disbelieving sound through his nose. He looked up at the sky and spoke without looking at John, voice dripping with his patented brand of sarcasm. “Really. _Really_ , John, nothing will change? Nothing?” He took deep drag and held the smoke, relishing the burning in his lungs.

John sat silent for a few seconds. Finally he dropped his head and looked at his hands, folded in his lap. 

Sherlock exhaled. From the corner of his eye, he could see that John’s mouth was drawn into a tight line. Just enough of his wine-and-champaign buzz remained to make him numb to John’s anger. “Tell me, John. Just what does ‘won’t change anything’ mean? Will you come round for a quick shag once the newness wears off your marriage? And you expect me to be waiting with open arms?”

Sherlock turned his head and looked John in the eye. John’s cheeks were flushed and his hands tightly clasped. His nostrils flared on each angry exhale. Sherlock lifted a sardonic eyebrow.

“Sherlock,” John’s voice was low and angry. “I have never treated you like a quick fuck and you know it.”

Sherlock smiled bitterly. “No, not a quick fuck. Nice long fucks, haven’t they been?”

“Stop it, Sherlock. Stop it right now.”

Sherlock bit his lips between his teeth. He wanted to point out that John was the one who had re-initiated the conversation after Sherlock had made it clear that the sexual relationship between them was over. He was angry and still a little drunk and slightly queasy from the hangover that was sure to come, and not in a mindset to make good decisions - and he was sober enough and rational enough to realize it. Instead of answering, Sherlock grabbed John’s shoulders roughly and pulled him into a crushing embrace. He kissed him hard, hard enough it hurt his own lips, moving his mouth roughly over John’s, lips wide apart and tongue crassly invading John’s mouth.

John made an angry noise and twisted, but Sherlock refused to let him go. He continued the assault on John’s mouth, his tongue deep inside it, and ran his hand down the front of John’s stiffly starched suit to cup his sex roughly. 

“Is this what you want?” Sherlock bit out angrily, face barely an inch from John’s. “Is this what won’t change?”

John’s body responded in spite of his anger with a thickening in his expensive formal trousers. He pushed Sherlock’s hand away roughly. “No, and you know it isn’t. I don’t want to just fuck. I love you, Sherlock. And you love me, even if right now you can’t see that this is the best for all of us. You are no more the type to be in a relationship than I am to be alone. You’d hate it in six months. You’d hate me in twelve.”

John stood, smoothed the front of his shirt and tugged his waistcoat into place. Looking down at Sherlock, he spoke evenly. “Sherlock, you are my best friend. If that means anything to you, please. Let’s go back in there and get through the rest of this evening.”

Sherlock regarded John sadly then closed his eyes and straightened his posture. He inclined his head toward the open French doors. “Go on in. I’ll have another cigarette and be along in a bit.”

John nodded and turned toward the brightly lit French doors. He didn’t look back.

Sherlock knew that John never doubted he’d follow.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't write Misery Loves Company as part of this series, but it fits perfectly after this fic. If you want to know what happened after Sherlock left the wedding early: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5268935


End file.
